Rabbit Holes
by The Crownless Queen
Summary: A collection of gen drabbles that wouldn't fit in my other collections. 1-LokhartMirror, 2-Severus, 3-SiriusRegulus, 4-Gabrielle, 5-Helena&Tom, 6-Cygnus, Violetta and Marius, 7-Percy, 8-Arthur, 9-Rita, 10-Ginny&Percy, 11-Marius&Dorea, 12-Isolt&Martha, 13&14-Marauders, 15-Salazar, 16-Helena&Luna, 17&18-Marauders, 19-Ron, 20&21-Snape, 22-Lily&Petunia, 23-Draco, 24-Colin&Dennis,
1. The Man In The Mirror (LockhartMirror)

Written for Hogwarts' Around the World Event: Indonesia - Word: Imbue and the Love in Motion Event: LockhartMirror.

 _Word count:_ 364

* * *

 **The Man In The Mirror**

People said you always remembered your first, that you could never forget them.

For Gilderoy, that was very true. He remembered the day he had gotten his first mirror perfectly. It had been a small thing, really. A cheap pocket mirror his mother had bought him after she had gotten tired of having to _Accio_ her own all the time, since Gilderoy kept borrowing it and 'forgetting' to return it.

The mirror had been round, and very small. A Muggle thing, too, that didn't even talk—not like his mother's mirror, who always paid her compliments and helped her pick the best jewelry to pair with her outfits.

But still, it was a mirror; and even if Gilderoy could barely manage to see his entire face without going all cross-eyed, it was his.

Of course, today he's long since gotten rid of the crappy first mirror—sold it, in fact, to a fan who'd paid quite a fortune for Gilderoy's Lockhart's first mirror. It had been, after all, imbued with the presence Gilderoy's early beginnings, and that was priceless.

That mirror hadn't been forgotten, though. Of course not. It had been replaced, though, by one so much better.

It was an ornate thing in gold and silver, the strands of precious metals twined like a crown around a round reflecting surface that was the perfect size for Gilderoy to see his entire face, and his hair.

He could spend hours gazing into that mirror, listening to the charmed voice as it told him all about the way he looked, how perfect his smile was, how straight his teeth were. It complimented the way his eyes sparkled and the way his skin shone, and with every single bit of praise, Gilderoy fell more and more in love with the man in the mirror.

It was so easy to lose himself into his reflection's perfect eyes, his eyes a deep blue that made Gilderoy think of the sky.

He was the only person in the world good enough for him—the only person whose standards of beauty matched with Gilderoy's own.

And as luck would have it, they were never far from each other.


	2. not for the faint of heart (Snape)

Written for Hogwarts' Around the World Event: Mexico - Food: Mushrooms, the Writing Club - Count Your Buttons: (character) Severus Snape, (word) dust and the National Princess Day: Tiger Lily - Peter Pan - Write a story set outside of England.

Also for aronpuma, who asked for a story set in Africa. I hope you like this.

 _Word count:_ 936

* * *

 **not for the faint of heart**

Growling underneath his breath, Severus trudged on through the high grass. His skin felt like it was on fire as sweat gathered on the thousands, or so it felt, of small cuts said grass had caused.

He had tried to protect himself as best as he could with cloth before setting out, but that clearly hadn't been enough, and seeing as he was currently carrying dangerously sensitive Potions ingredients, he couldn't just cast a shield spell or Apparate away and call it quits.

No, instead he had to walk in this unbearable heat and through this damned place, with flies buzzing around his face no matter what he did. Every inch of skin that wasn't covered in cloth had been sunburned, which made the skin pull painfully every time he moved, and every inch of skin that was itched because of the sweat he could feel either pooling there or running down his skin.

The next time Albus suggested he take a vacation to 'further his knowledge of Potion ingredients and explore new opportunities', Severus would hex him sixth ways to Sunday.

That would only serve the old meddler right. " _Oh, Severus, my dear boy, I know the perfect place for you to collect rare ingredients."_ Severus really should have seen this coming.

He gritted his teeth and pushed on, cutting more grass with the heavy rusted machete the locals had so kindly provided him with.

He wiped his forehead and cursed his luck, Albus and the entire continent of Africa once again as he felt something sting the back of his neck. For good measure, he cursed Potter too—he wasn't sure how that little miscreant was to blame for Severus' miscreant, but there was a link there, Severus was sure of it.

Whenever something bad happened to him, after all, a Potter was to blame—father or son, it didn't matter.

He picked a half-dead bug off his neck. Its tiny wings were still fluttering weakly and Severus felt a rush of satisfied rage as he ended its life. It had left its sting and venom behind, and until Severus got back to his camp where he would finally be able to use magic, he would be suffering. It was only fair that this insect paid for this crime with its life.

The one good thing in all this sorry adventure was that, as a Potion Master, Severus was at least used to getting his hands dirty. Some smashed bug remains were nothing compared to the various entrails he had put his hands onto, though he had had gloves most of the time.

He wiped his hand on his black cargo pants. He would probably have to burn these clothes upon getting back to England—they could probably be salvaged by the House Elves at Hogwarts, but Severus would rather be faced with Dementors or the Cruciatus rather than have to bear the reminder of these embarrassing days.

He looked like a Muggle—worse, he looked like his father. The thought sat ill in his stomach and only made his slashes at the surrounding vegetation harsher and more violent.

To distract himself, Severus started to think about the dinner he'd get to have once he got out of this stupid savanna.

 _Mushrooms_ , he thought. He would have mushrooms—he had decided on that earlier, before the sun got as high and hot as it was now. They were good mushrooms, too, picked in France on his way to Africa—had he known, he would have stayed there. The French forests had plenty of indigenous magical species Severus wasn't used to in Scotland; their study would have been interesting enough, he was sure.

Hell, he might even have done a trip around Europe—the last issue of Potioneers Monthly _had_ talked about unusual Polish herbs Severus had been dying to get his hands on. He shouldn't have let Albus tempt him with promises of undiscovered species on another continent.

So far, the only _unusual_ things Severus had collected were the number of bug bites as well as truly ghastly sunburns all over his body. No amount of aloe vera or magic helped when he had to suffer through it every day, like an idiot—whoever had invented that sunscreen spell was clearly an idiot not to have made it last longer than a couple of hours.

Clearly, the first thing Severus would do once he got back home, apart from taking a cold, soothing bath, would be to invent a sunscreen balm that would last at least an entire day.

Finally, with one last strong slash, Severus stepped out of the grass steppe and into the more familiar dirt road that led to the camp his tent was set up in.

It wasn't much better than the grass—there was more wind there, and while it helped cool down his burns, it also made the red dirt of the road rise up and stick to his skin and clothes. It was hard to tell what was more uncomfortable: the damp feeling of sweat on his skin or the raspy feeling of tiny particles being whipped on his skin by the wind.

The relief came more from knowing that soon, he would be back in his tent, putting away the few ingredients he had found, and finally, finally, he would be able to use magic again and be clean.

And tomorrow, no matter what, he was catching that Portkey back to Europe. No amount of Potion-making could be worth the troubles he'd had in this stupid country.

He wasn't staying there another moment, Albus and his schemes be damned.


	3. Brother (Sirius&Regulus)

Written for Hogwarts' Love in Motion Event: SiriusRegulus, the Around the World Event: Swaziland - Word: Shimmer, the National Princess Day Event: Margaret - Real Life Princess - Write about a pureblood, the Character Showcase: Sirius Black - Older Brother.

 _Word count:_ 467

* * *

 **Brother**

The world stops. Oh, the battle is still going on—people are still dying around them, spells are still flying left and right in flashes of violent lights—but… But to Sirius, the world has stopped. It's been put on hold.

It has gone silent. He _knows_ one of those Death Eaters, knows the _enemy_.

 _(But no, no he doesn't— he can't. Merlin, let him be wrong about this. This is not a thing he wants to be right about— not a thing he can_ afford _to be right about.)_

'I could have killed him,' he thinks. 'I still might.'

The thought hurts. He hates his brother, has done his best to forget him and put him behind him with the rest of the past he doesn't want to acknowledge; and yet, a part of him can't let go of Regulus' memory. A part of him still loves Regulus.

It's a painful kind of love. A disease, really. Something rotten rooted deep inside his very soul that just won't die, no matter how much Sirius wishes it would.

He wonders if Regulus thinks the same and lowers his wand to his side. It's half reflex, half provocation, and his lips curl into a snarl his brother probably can't even see.

'Can you kill me, _brother_?' he wants to spit. 'Can you fulfill your promises?'

 _(He still remembers the hatred burning in his brother's cloudy eyes when Sirius had run away._

" _If you come back here, I'll kill you," Regulus had said. Sirius had merely laughed, bright and bitter and mad._

" _Why would I ever want to come back here?" he had spat in return.)_

 _(Had there been a flash of pain, then, in those stormy eyes, or had it only been wishful thinking, some twisted part of Sirius' brain wanting for at least one person to miss him when he was gone?)_

But Regulus makes no move to hew him. Instead, looking pointedly away, he turns around and dives back into the battle. His black robe shimmers as he moves further and further away and something in Sirius' chest aches.

'Coward!' he wants to call out, to rage. 'Fight me!'

He swallows back the urge and the pain and paints a manic grin on his face, tossing around jinxes as he, too, rejoins the fight.

Regulus is beyond his help now, beyond saving. Perhaps he always was.

 _(Had Sirius made up the little boy who used to ask him to play hide and seek with him? Had he dreamed up that boy and the way he looked at Sirius like his brother had hung the stars in the sky?_

 _Had the dead-eyed monster he'd faced just now been all that there ever was to Sirius' little brother?)_

 _(He hated that he didn't know which answer he hoped for.)_


	4. Beauxbatons (Gabrielle)

Written for Hogwarts' Around the World Event: Bangladesh - Setting: Beauxbatons.

 _Word count:_ 236

* * *

 **Beauxbatons**

Beauxbatons was truly as amazing as Fleur had lead Gabrielle to believe. After seeing Hogwarts and how magical that castle was — though maybe part of the charm stemmed from all the excitement of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, of being chosen as a hostage for her sister and ultimately rescued by Harry Potter.

That had been almost like a fairytale come true, and she had wondered since then how Beauxbatons could ever rival with its British counterpart.

She shouldn't have worried. Hogwarts' dreary dark walls have nothing on Beauxbatons' bleached white walls, on its luminous halls where charmed windows make the sunlight glow golden.

Her first impression of Hogwarts was that it looked like a castle from a fairytale, and she wasn't wrong — but Beauxbatons does too, and even more than that, it looks like something that stepped out a dream.

If this were a fairytale, Hogwarts would be the abandoned castle the heroes took refuge in for the night, or it'd be the evil sorceress' lair. Beauxbatons, however, would be the home people longed to return to; it would be the king and queen's castle the prince and princess married in at the end of their journey.

And the climate was far kinder than Scotland's too, which cemented it in Gabrielle's mind: Hogwarts was a nice enough place to visit, but to live in?

Oh, to live in Gabrielle would take Beauxbatons any day.


	5. La Grande Illusion (Helena&Tom)

Written for Hogwarts' Weekly Tea Challenge: Lady Grey - Write about Rowena or Helena Ravenclaw, the Wandlore Assignment - Task #1: Write about a character who is canonically depicted as 'lacking' in something (such as Neville or Peter) to have a big, dramatic personality, the Dragon Appreciation Month, the 365 Prompts Challenge: Creature - Ghost, the Insane House Challenge: Creature - Ghost, the Sticker Challenge: Nearly-Headless Nick - Write about a ghost, the Writing Club: Book Club - Gaia: (character) Tom Riddle Jr, (word) darkness, (action) hitting someone, Liza's Love - La Grande Illusion, and the Fanfic Resolutions Challenge: Write a pairing you've never written before.

 _Word count:_ 794

* * *

 **La Grande Illusion**

"Hello, Helena."

"Hello, Tom," Helena replied, floating down to his level. "What are you doing back here?"

It was odd, that after so many years spent shutting herself off from everything, even the students from her 'own' House, this Slytherin boy had managed to slip right through her defenses. And yet, when Tom was around, smiling at her like he meant it, she almost felt… alive.

Her heart would be racing at the sight of him, she knew, if she were still human.

"I came back to interview for the Defense position," Tom replied, and something… something almost dark flashed in his eyes. Helena would shiver if she could.

"That's amazing," she said, and she meant it. Tom had always been brilliant, and so very charismatic. He would make a brilliant teacher.

And that way, the selfish part of her thought, she would get to see him every day.

Tom hums in agreement and his smile widens. It turns a bit sharper too. More dangerous. "That's not all I came here to do, though," he tells her. Slowly, carefully, he reaches into the bag hanging at his side and retrieves a small parcel.

"Is that…?" Her words fail her, and if she hadn't been dead already, Helena would have begged to die again. "How did you…" Her voice trembles and she snatches back the hesitant fingers that had wandered off toward the small package.

"It was right where you said it would be," he said, eyes glinting with something triumphant. He unwraps the parcel slowly, as though he was enjoying this. "I thought it was only right to bring this back where it belongs."

The sight of the diadem he finally revealed was at the same time incredibly painful and terribly bittersweet.

Here was the source of her ruin in all its magnificent grandeur.

"Have you worn it?" she asked in a reverent whisper, hovering closer.

Tom shook his head, fingers caressing the metal slowly. He smiles at her like he knows the ending of a joke she hadn't even realized she'd told. "No," he confessed, and Helena didn't even have the time to feel relief for that before Tom thrust the diadem at her.

Her fingers grazed against it, going right through it.

Had that been cold she had felt? But no, that couldn't be right… Her head snapped back to Tom and she jerked away from him.

" _What did you do?"_ She spat the words like a curse, and with fingers bent like claws, instinctively reached out to slap him.

She knew what he had done. She didn't need him to say it — she could feel it. Feel the darkness clinging to the last thing she had of her mother, to this piece of her heart she had trusted him with.

She knew what it meant.

Rage boiled over in her chest, and burning shame too. Hadn't she learned long ago not to trust a pretty face?

Merlin, why couldn't she just learn?

Tom merely laughed at her feeble attempts to hurt him passed right through his skin, leaving him unfazed but for a slight shudder he quickly shook off.

Raging, Helena tried again, and again, and again. She attacked him desperately, cursing his name and everything he stood for, but that only made him laugh harder.

And the more he laughed, the more she hated him — until every sweet thought she had ever had about him became painted over with this red haze of anger.

She screamed, the sound higher than any human voice could ever reach. Somewhere away from them, glass shattered, but Helena didn't care.

When she stopped, Tom wasn't smiling anymore. He was scowling, an ugly expression that fit him so much better than his earlier, sweet attempts, and blood dripped from his ears slowly.

"You shouldn't have come back," she stated darkly. "You don't belong here. And neither does that _thing_ ," she added, nodding at the diadem in Tom's hands.

Tom's scowl got meaner. "And who's going to stop me? You? You're not even alive."

And Helena thought about it. She thought about dying, how terrified she had been then, how righteously angry she had been too.

She felt the same way now.

She raised her head and looked him straight in the eyes, delighting in his surprise at her defiance. "If I must." And she must.

"You wouldn't dare," Tom retorted. He looked so sure of himself, so certain that she wouldn't go against him, that Helena almost pitied him.

"Leave," she finally said instead of engaging him further. "And if you're half as smart as you think you are, you won't return."

"Oh, I _will_ return," Tom said, but Helena was already floating away.

 _Let him try_ , she thought but didn't say. _Let him try._


	6. it all falls down (Cygnus&Violetta)

Written for Hogwarts' Writing Club - Character Appreciation: (Relationship) Father, Disney Challenge: Jafar - Write about someone manipulative, Amber's Attic: Cygnus Black II, Showtime: March of the Witch Hunters - (trait) Coward, Days of the Month: World Marriage Day - Write about a married couple, Lyric Alley: I feel my demons, the Serpent Day Challenge: Lancehead- (word) hollow, the Scavenger Hunt: Write a family fic, the Mythology Assignment: Task #2 - Hera, Goddess of Marriage: Write about someone trying to save their marriage, the Insane House Challenge: Relationship - Married, the 365 Prompts Challenge: Emotion - Anger.

Word count: 533

* * *

it all falls down

"He was my son! How could you?"

In that moment, Cygnus was glad his wife hadn't reached for her wand yet — though he couldn't see why. Violetta, usually so much more evenly tempered, looked ready to claw his eyes out with her bare fingers — which, considering she knew at least half a dozen curses to that effect, meant she truly meant business.

"My son," she cried out again, and Cygnus' heart went out to her.

"We couldn't keep him, you know that." He tried to reason.

"'Keep him'," she scoffed derisively. "Marius wasn't a thing to be kept, he was a boy. My boy." With her head held up high and her eyes blazing with rage, she looked every inch of the queenly figure who had captured his heart years ago.

They had been lucky then, so lucky. Was this why Marius? Was he punishment for their sins, some divine retribution for the happiness they had shared while their world warred against itself outside their walls?

"We couldn't keep him," he repeated, slowly creeping closer to his wife. "They would have banished us from the family, burned us out from the family tree. We would have had nothing."

Somehow, the words didn't sound as good out loud than they did in his mind. They tasted bitter, like poison, and they rang hollow in the air. Cygnus swallowed heavily.

"They would have killed him," Violetta replied softly, almost in a whisper.

"They would have," he agreed, because that was the truth. Without magic, what good was Marius to the family?

"You did what you had to do," she said, still in that soft, defeated tone.

Cygnus nodded. "He couldn't stay with us."

Violetta sighed. All her rage seemed to have drained out of her. She had never looked so tired before, and Cygnus wished more than anything that he could have spared her this pain.

She turned her head to face him.

"Tell me you did it for him," she said, voice unyielding and blue eyes as cold as a glacier. Cygnus repressed a shiver. Like this, it almost felt like she could see right through him and down to his soul. "Tell me you did it for him, and I'll believe you."

Cygnus thought about the grinning boy who had said he'd be Headmaster of Hogwarts one day, just like his grandfather — the boy for whom no wand had ever worked or letter ever came.

The boy who was a disgrace to this family, even though he should have been their pride and joy.

He thought about his wife, who loved the boy who could be their ruin anyway. She was too kind for her own good, he had always known this — and yet, it really hit him this time, how deep that kindness run.

She could do something stupid if he let her, he realized.

And so he looked her straight in the eyes — Marius' eyes, only older and more jaded (though the pleading and pain was familiar) — and said, "I did it for him."

And for the life of him, Cygnus couldn't figure out if that was a lie or not.


	7. you were never meant (Percy)

Written for Hogwarts' Arithmancy Assignment, Task 7: Write about a wise person showing ignorance.

Also for the Writing Club: Character Appreciation - Genre: Family, Disney Challenge: Piglet - Write about someone who feels small, Amber's Attic: The trauma said, "Don't write these poems. Nobody wants to hear you cry about the grief inside your bones.", Lyric Alley: I wake up tonight, feeling paper thin and I'm paper white, Sophie's Shelf: Chiaroscuro Lighting - Write a story that is gloomy and 'black and white' in nature, Lo's Lowdown: "The wise build bridges while the foolish build barriers.", the Auction Challenge: Genre: Drama, Film Festival - (character) loner.

Word count: 412

* * *

you were never meant to walk on your knees

Things weren't supposed to be like this, Percy thought as he stared blankly at the growing lines of muggleborns being escorted into the Ministry, where he knew they wouldn't be coming back from. They weren't, they weren't, they weren't.

This wasn't what Percy had left everything for — had left everyone for.

How could he have been so blind? How did he not see?

He had thought himself so clever, so smart — but what did smarts help when the world went wrong around him?

Percy felt adrift, lost, like a boat left unmoved at shore and swept up by the current. He missed his family — his parents, his siblings — but how was he supposed to approach them now, after all he had already done? How could he even hope for forgiveness?

But his parents would know how to help him make sense of this. They would tell him what he should do now, what he should be.

He just needed someone to tell him what he should be.

But his parents were being watched. He couldn't go to them.

He saw his father every day in the elevator, and every time some part of his heart ached for how much more tired the man looked, but still Percy couldn't go to him, couldn't even say anything.

(Some Gryffindor he was, huh?)

He was a coward. He couldn't admit he was wrong out loud even though he knew he was, that perhaps he had always been wrong, because if he had been wrong then what had he done all this for?

What had he given up everything for?

His mother had told him once, "The wise build bridges while the foolish build barriers."

He had thought it just pretty words back then, but then again he had been a child still. He had thought it merely referred to him having to make friends at Hogwarts.

He hadn't listened, and had thus inadvertently proved her right.

Percy was a fool. Maybe the greatest of them all, not to have seen what he had until he had lost it, willingly squandering it away like it was worth nothing, when, in truth, it was worth everything.

But it was too late, wasn't it? There was nothing he could do about it now. Nothing he could do to make up for his screw ups.

But maybe… He thought as he stared at the huddling muggleborns, maybe he could still do something for them.


	8. something soft (Arthur)

Written for Hogwarts' Writing Club - Disney Challenge: The Wonderful Thing About Tiggers - Write the fluffiest fluff you can manage, Amber's Attic: We have to create. It is the only thing louder than destruction, Days of the Month: Husband Appreciation Day - Write about a husband, Lyric Alley: You say, "Just come back to bed", Lo's Lowdown: Phil Coulson - write about Arthur Weasley.

Also for the Muggle History Assignment: Task 6 - George Washington: Write about a retirement and the Auction Challenge: Character: Arthur Weasley.

 _Word count_ : 791

 _ **something soft**_

There is something… freeing about being able to wake up whenever he wants to. It almost makes up for the ache in his body, the small _pops_ his bones makes when he shifts.

Aging, Arthur knows, comes with its pains.

But it also comes with other things — like being able to sleep in, at last.

Arthur can't remember the last time he was able to do that. Between the kids and work, it felt like he could never get enough sleep.

And now, suddenly, he can.

Of course, he misses his job. He misses having that purpose, _knowing_ what he'd be doing of his days in advance. Not having that has him feeling a little bit aimless, to tell the truth, even if he still had his shed and all its contents to tinker with.

It's just not the same.

(Last week, Molly caught him trying to sneak back to the Ministry in the middle of the night.

"But what if they can't handle it?" he'd said, almost half-whining. He had dreamed there was an outbreak of cursed Muggle objects — teapots that only ever served boiling hot tea and _floated_ , keys that shrunk, razors that only ever drew blood when you used them, and so many others — and he had had to make sure his Department was handling it.

Molly, her eyes still half-lidded from sleep, had put a hand over his arm, tugging just slightly at his nightgown, and said in a yawn, "I'm sure they can handle it without you, Arthur. You're _retired_ now, let the poor kids do their job. And come back to bed."

And so he had, slipping underneath the cover and feeling, quite honestly, wrung out.)

But as much as he misses his job, Arthur also loves his retirement. It leaves him and Molly with so much more free time — time he sometimes wistfully wishes they'd had years ago, but then they might have ended with even more children than they've had and Molly might have murdered him for making her go through labor so many times — and they can do all the things they've been meaning to and never got around to actually doing.

Like Molly teaching him to knit.

It had been a joke on his part at first, a half-meant comment he'd made years ago — Merlin, Arthur doesn't even remember when. But Molly had taken it to heart, giving him one of those bright smiles that, even after decades of marriage, still made his heart race in his chest, and Arthur had found himself agreeing to lessons when they'd have the time.

It is, predictably, a disaster. At least, at first. Arthur tangles the yarn and somehow only ever seems to be able to manage odd, misshapen things — but it makes Molly laughs, even as she shoots him increasingly incredulous looks whenever he screws up in some inventive way.

(Arthur will never admit it, but that laugh is at least half the reason it takes him so long to master anything — sabotaging his own work is a small price to pay for his wife's happiness.)

Even so, Arthur does get better. It takes him months, almost years, but his grandchildren's faces when they tear apart brightly colored wrapping paper to find their sweaters — half made by him, half by Molly, and people can barely tell the difference anymore — is worth all the trouble learning to knit was.

"I've got to say, Dad," Charlie says as he shrugs on his own sweater and rolls his shoulders to check the fit, "retirement suits you. I didn't expect that."

Bill, George and Ron — even Percy, who pretends he doesn't want to come but always shows up anyway, and it _aches_ something fierce to have him there, part of the family again, when once upon a time Arthur thought him lost forever — nod, grinning as they pull on their own sweaters. Behind them, the children start to fight over the best sweater colors.

Lily, her emerald sweater the color of her eyes, is scowling at Rose. They each guard their gift jealously, and are arguing that theirs is the best color. Ginny and Hermione are trying to separate them while their husbands sit by the sidelines, laughing.

Arthur, who remembers a time his own children did the same, starts to chuckle.

He turns back to Charlie, who's watching them with a fond smile. "You know what?" he says, feeling himself grin. "I think you might be right. Retirement _does_ suit me."

He looks at his family, happy and as whole as it will ever get, and he feels his heart swell in his chest.

"Yes," he mutters, "it suits me just fine."


	9. never satisfied (Rita)

Written for Hogwarts' Muggle History Assignment: Task 8 - Angelica Schuyler: Write about never being satisfied.

Also for the Auction Challenge: (character) Rita Skeeter, the Writing Club - Disney Challenge: Tigger - Write about someone who is always moving and has a lot of energy.

 _Word count:_ 452

 _ **never satisfied**_

When Rita is eight, her mother gets her a quill. It's a simple thing — just a white quill, with a tip that she has to sharpen every other day because otherwise it starts scratching holes in the parchment she uses.

She knows her mother doesn't really mean it kindly. She's tired of hearing Rita talk all the time, always asking questions, always running around.

(Rita's father is gone now, and he's not coming back.

Rita pretends she doesn't know why, but she does.

She saw him, once, with that girl he liked. Younger and prettier than Rita's mother, and he had kissed her and touched her like Rita knew he was only supposed to touch her mother.

"It's our little secret, alright?" Her father had told her later, when he had found out that Rita knew. "I'll buy you ice-cream if you promise not to tell your mother."

Rita likes ice-cream, so she had promised. Even now, she doesn't think she regrets it — even though her father left and hasn't sent one letter since, not even for her birthday.

But secrets, she decides, are bad.)

So her mother is tired, because Rita is too much and she has to work twice as much as before now, to support them both, and she gets Rita a quill and some cheap parchment to keep her busy.

It backfires.

Oh sweet Merlin does it backfire.

.

Rita writes and writes and writes. She writes stories, like the kind her father used to tell her before bed.

(She rips those up afterward, and even if she wants to burn them she can't, so she saves the scraps and hides them underneath her bed.

Sometimes, late at night, she takes them out and stares at the dark, shiny ink until the words blur and she falls asleep.)

She rewrites the news too, makes them better, so that when she tells them to her mother it'll make her smile again.

It doesn't. her mother snatches the parchment right from her hands and rips it in two before throwing it away like it's garbage.

" _Lies_!" she screeches. "I didn't raise you to be a fucking liar!"

 _You're just like your father_ , she doesn't say, but only just.

Only just, and Rita hears it anyway.

It's fine. She'll do better next time. Her story will be so real her mother won't be able to call her a liar again.

(But she does. Again, and again, and again, until Rita can feel the word digs its way through her skin, its poisonous vines wrapping themselves around her heart.

 _Better_. She had to be better. Has to write more.

And maybe… maybe her mother will love her again.)


	10. never see you coming (Ginny&Percy)

Written for Hogwarts' Sex Ed Assignment: Task 1 - Write about someone being faced with the possibility of sex for the first time.

Also for the Auction Challenge: (trope) omegaverse, the Writing Club - Character Appreciation: (relationship) Siblings, Emy's Emporium: The hunt - write about a coming of age ritual, Cocktail Corner: Pomegranate - Character: Ginny Weasley.

Word count: 951

 _ **never see you coming**_

Ginny doesn't remember the day she manifested an Omega. Tom had been thorough in hiding it — Merlin forbid the girl he was possessing be some 'weak' omega instead of an alpha, apparently, and Ginny would laugh at the prejudice that shows if it didn't make her feel so sick.

(Tom had been an Alpha. Mrs. Pomphrey told her this, just before she explained to Ginny how the possession had screwed with her system and how it might take a while for her hormones to settle in their proper levels.

"But I'm an Omega? For sure?" Ginny had asked, hating how small her voice sounded.

"Yes," Mrs Pomphrey had replied, kind but firm. "You are."

Her mother had celebrated, of course. As soon as she knew and Ginny was back from Hogwarts, she cooked all of Ginny's favorite meals, and Ginny had smiled a smile so fake all evening that her cheeks were still hurting the next day.)

She doesn't want to be an Omega. She wants to be an Alpha, or perhaps a Beta like her brothers. Anything but an Omega.

But she doesn't have a choice, does she?

.

Of all the people she expects to try to talk to her about the Omega thing, Percy is the last one she'd thought she'd have to deal with.

And yet, here her brother is, standing in her doorway, looking awkward with his fist still raised to knock, even though said door is open.

"Go away," Ginny mumbles rom her bed. She's collapsed face down on her covers, and her head is buried in her pillow, but somehow she thinks her brother doesn't need her to be intelligible to understand what she means.

Percy ditters for a minute, but then his footsteps come closer, not further, and Ginny sits up, scowling.

"I said go away."

"I'm sorry, but no," Percy replies. He pulls a chair closer to her bed and sits on it. He doesn't look any less awkward than before, but it makes Ginny smile briefly. "I thought… I think we need to talk."

"Nothing to talk about," Ginny replies crossly. "I'm fine, you're fine, everyone's fine."

Percy continues to talk like he didn't hear her. "I know being an Omega wasn't what you wanted, but it's really not that bad." His voice softens, and something in his eyes makes him look like their father, when he's trying to console his children. "You will get through this."

"And how would you know that?" she spits back.

Because this isn't like that time she borrowed her brother's broom, went flying and fell, and Bill helped her hide it, or even like she just got her first period.

This is so much worse, so much more life defining. This is…

She'll have to find an Alpha. Omegas do that, don't they? She'll have to find an Alpha, and hopefully he'll be a good one and let her be, but she'll always be looked down for it, in a way that she wasn't before, not even for being a girl.

She'll have to have sex one day, and she knew that before, but she didn't know. It's so much realer now, and she feels herself start to panic.

Percy's voice cuts through the noise in her head.

"I know," he says, "I know because… I'm an Omega too." He smiles down at her, apologetic. "i'm sorry. I wanted to tell you, but…"

"It's hard," Ginny finishes for him, suddenly overcome by a wave of relief — here is someone who knows, someone who can understand her. "Does…"

"Mum and Dad know." Percy nods, no doubt feeling what she was about to ask. "But you're the first person I told."

"Oh. Thank you." And then, because now she can, she blurts out, "I don't want to have sex. Or… Or…"

Her mind swims with all the things she's heard about Omegas — consequence of growing up with six big brothers, who all have or are going through puberty and don't always know when to censor themselves, amongst other things — but she doesn't want any of them.

She doesn't feel like any of them should apply to her. She's not some meek damsel in distress waiting for an Alpha to rescue her, or a passive woman who wants to stay home to raise a bunch of kids. Maybe her mother liked it, but Ginny wants more out of her life.

She wants everything.

Percy smiles at her again. "Hey, Ginny, you don't have to do anything you don't want to." And then he smirks, an expression that would be more at home on the twins' faces than his, and yet, one that fits him like a glove.

"Besides, do you want to know the one good thing about being an Omega?"

Ginny nods eagerly.

"It's that no one will ever see you coming. You can take this world by the storm, and they won't even realize they have to fight back until it's too light and you've already won."

And Ginny thinks about her brother's ambition, his drive, and suddenly she sees him in a different light.

It's different for him, of course. Nobody knows he's an Omega and he's still a boy. But he's also aiming for the Ministry, and Ginny suddenly can't wait to see her brother rise through the ranks there, and everyone's faces when they realize what he is.

It'll been a prank even the twins would be proud of, she thinks, except that they, too, won't ever see it coming.

Percy nods and takes his leave, but just as he's about to cross her doorway again, Ginny finds her voice. "Thanks, Percy."

"Anytime, Ginny. Anytime."


	11. tell me how to breathe (Marius&Dorea)

Written for Hogwarts' Auction Challenge: "Never think you're ordinary just because you don't have magic."

Also for the Writing Club - Character Appreciation: (trait) loyal, Shannon's Showcase - Switzerland: (relationship) brother/sister, Lyric: "Sins of the father make us fall, And I can't do anythinga bout it", Showtime: The First Attack - (action) crying, Sophie's Shelf: Stefano - Write about someone who isn't safe, Photography Month: Monochrome Photography - Write about someone who is quite downcast or depressed, Scavenger Hunt: Write about a member of the Black family, Cocktail Corner: Cherries - (restriction) no character older than 11, (word) innocent.

 _Word count:_ 576

 **tell me how to breathe (and feel no hurt)**

Dorea found him by the pond, out back in the garden.

(Two days ago, their father had held his head down under for so long that Marius had thought he would die. His lungs had been burning and he had screamed so much that even now, his voice still didn't sound right.

Their mother had stopped it, in the end. She had saved him before their father could kill him — because Marius knew he would have.

Part of him had always known, he thought, and yet he still hadn't expected it.)

"What are you doing here?" Dorea asked, hurrying to his side. "You'll catch your death if you stay out here in the cold!"

It wasn't funny, but Marius found himself laughing anyway. He drew his knees to his chest. "Good," he said, refusing to look at her and instead staring into the black, inky depths of the pond. "That'll save anyone from having to do it."

It was the silence that made him turn, in the end. It wasn't like Dorea to stay this quiet for so long after all, and he hadn't heard her leave.

His sister was staring at him in horror. She wasn't crying, but Marius could tell she wanted to. He sighed, guilt twisting his stomach.

Merlin, she was even younger than him. She shouldn't have to endure any of this, not any more than he had to.

But they were Blacks. Pain and sorrow might as well run through their veins, and there was no room for the innocence of childhood left.

"Hey, come here." He scooted to the side a little, gesturing at Dorea to join him.

"I don't want you to die," Dorea whispered as she settled at his side. Were they any other family, Marius thought she might try to hug him, but that had never been something they did.

Marius swallowed back the bitter taste in his throat. "Why? I'm _nothing_ , Dorea. I'm no one — useless and _ordinary_ ," he spat, repeating the words their father had thrown at him in disgust as Marius had still been shivering by this pond, chest heaving as he gasped for breath.

"Never think you're ordinary just because you don't have magic. And you're not _useless_ ," she spat, her eyes suddenly lit with a fire that Marius was more used to seeing in Cassiopeia. "You're my big brother no matter what." She swallowed. "Ma — Magic or no magic."

"That's kind of you to say," Marius replied, a wry smile on his face. "But…"

"No buts," Dorea retorted, shaking her head resolutely. "I don't…" She bit her lip. "I don't care that you don't have magic."

Marius knew their family wouldn't approve of the sentiment — from the mulish look on her face, Dorea knew it too — but that had only made it worth more to him.

"You should care," he replied half-heartedly.

"Well, I don't," she retorted, glaring at him haughtily. "And you shouldn't either."

Marius laughed wryly. "Somehow, I don't think Father would agree with you."

Dorea shrugged, but Marius could see the shiver of apprehension she tried to conceal. "I know. But he's wrong." Dorea seemed to shrink suddenly, pulling her knees to her chest in a position that half-mirrored his. "He has to be."

Marius didn't know how to answer that, and so he said nothing.

They sat there, in silence, for a long time.


	12. paint you another sky (Isolt&Martha)

Written for Hogwarts' Auction Challenge: (character) Martha Steward II, and the Mythology Assignment: Task 5: Augean Stables - setting: stables.

Also for the Writing Club: Character Appreciation - (word) last, Disney Challenge: Scar - Write about someone trying to sabotage someone in their family, Shannon's Showcase: 10. Azerbaijan: (Lyric) "If you think that you don't count, let me prove you different now.", (Theme) Overcoming difficulties, Showtime: Fantine's Death - (relationship) Mother, Count Your Buttons: Isolt Sayre, Lyric Alley: And the only solution was to stand and fight, Emy's Emporium: The Empire - write about a powerful man/woman or organisation, Film Festival: Character: Career Man/Woman.

Martha Steward II is the squib daughter of Isolt Sayre and James Steward, who founded Ilvermony.

 _Word count:_ 727

 _ **paint you another sky**_

"There you are, Martha! You shouldn't have run away like this, you caused your father and I quite a fright!"

Martha kept her head bent down as she picked at the straw from the ground. Her mother raised Hippogriffs, and while Martha stills sometimes found the creatures frightening, their stables were still the only place where she always felt truly safe, the one place where she felt she could be left in peace.

The Hippogriffs never bothered her, not really, and sometimes Martha brought them food and they would let her pet them — though only after she properly bowed, of course.

"I'm sorry, Mother," she said. "I shouldn't have told you where I was going."

She didn't say she wouldn't do it again, and her mother caught it instantly. She frowned. "Martha…" Her voice was full of concern and it made Martha's stomach twist painfully.

She hated worrying her mother like this, but she couldn't help it."

"What happened?" her mother asked, bending down to her level.

"Nothing," Martha mumbled back. In her hands, the straw broke in half from all the twisting she had done to it, and she stared at it like it had betrayed her.

It was better than to stare into her mother's face.

Isolt sighed. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

Reluctantly, Martha nodded. "Of course," she said.

"Well then, what is it? I know you only come here when you want to escape your feelings?"

"You do?" she blurted out, before clasping her hands over her mouth, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Her mother laughed, the sound as clear as bells. She smiled gently. "Of course. And I'm very glad that you manage to find peace here. You get that from me, I think. Certainly not from your father, anyhow," she added, winking at Martha mischievously.

Martha giggled. It was true that her father, James Steward, was terrible with the Hippogriffs. It wasn't that he disliked them, far from it actually, but for some reason he always got too excited, which made the Hippogriffs nervous, which made him _more_ excited, and so on.

Isolt was the one who had a way with animals, and the Hippogriffs loved her.

They liked Martha too — better than they liked her twin sister Rionach anyway.

She picked up another bit of straw. This one had been clinging to her robes.

"Mother," she started to ask, biting her lower lip nervously, "why don't I have magic when Rionach does?"

Her mother's eyes sharpened, and something flashed through them, too fast for Martha's downcast eyes to catch. "... Did your sister say something to you?"

Martha opened her mouth to answer, but at the last minute, she hesitated. "She said I was useless because you couldn't teach me your spells," she admitted in a whisper.

When she looked up, her mother's nostrils were flaring in anger. "I see," she said, her voice dangerously even. "I think I should remind your sister of a few things, then. But first things first..." She looked Martha right in the eyes and said, "You are not useless, Martha Steward. Magic or no magic, you are going to be _amazing_." She winked.

"Now, why don't we go out on a flight? I think you're old enough now, and Smartbeak likes you — I'm sure she'll let you ride her."

Martha's heart skipped a beat and she gasped. "Really?"

Her mother had never let her or Rionach ride the Hippogriffs — not that Rionach had really expressed any interest lately, not since she had had her first bout of accidental magic. And since Martha hadn't.

But their mother insisted that they were still too young, and that it was too dangerous.

Even so, Martha had seen her mother fly countless times, and part of her was desperate to try it, even just once.

"Really," Isolt confirmed, smiling at her daughter. "I can teach you." Again, she winked. "And it's not something you need magic for."

Martha's eyes widened. "Oh. I get it now! You're helping me prove Rionach wrong!"

Isolt laughed. "Of course. Now, come on. I believe we have a lesson to start."

"No?"

"No time like the present." She stood up and offered Martha her hand, wiggling her fingers a little.

Martha grinned, and grabbed her mother's hand.

This was going to be amazing.


	13. mishaps in Potion Making

Written for Hogwarts' Auction Challenge: Polyjuice.

Also for the Writing Club: Character Appreciation - (setting) Hogwarts, Showtime: The Bishop - (color) Silver, Lyric Alley: About my old school, Ami's Audio Admirations: The Panic - (plot) A large amount of people panicking, the Cocktail Corner: Cheese - Character: Peter Pettigrew, Plot: Write really cheesy fluff.

 _Word count:_ 450

 _ **mishaps in Potion Making**_

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Peter asked, looking nervously over the bubbling cauldron.

Sirius glared at him, tossing his hair dramatically over his shoulder. "When have I ever had a _bad_ idea? For that matter, when have my ideas ever been anything _but_ utterly and phenomenally amazing?"

Peter, Remus and James all exchanged worried looks before looking back into the cauldron. Suddenly, even James, who had been the more confident about this, didn't seem too confident.

(He, like Peter, probably remembered what had happened the last time Sirius had had a bright idea.

It had ended with their skin having turned the most horrid shade of neon yellow, and them spending two days in the Hospital Wing to fix it. Before they got two weeks of detentions. And a lecture from Professor McGonagall.

 _And_ a very concerned from Mrs. Potter, which had honestly been the worst.)

"You know," James said, "I'm sure we can figure something else out. We don't _actually_ need the Polyjuice Potion…" He chuckled nervously, a sound that Peter echoed.

Remus nodded. "You know, I'm sure I remember reading about a couple of glamor spells and some illusion magic that would do pretty much the same thing as the Polyjuice." He shot James and Peter a pointed look, and discreetly nodded toward their ingredients supply, before nodding back toward the cauldron.

Peter had James shared one significant look, and James nodded.

It took them less than a second, especially since Remus was keeping Sirius busy — James grabbed a handful of… some kind of leaves, and tossed them into the cauldron. A puff of silver smoke rose, but thankfully there seemed to be no other immediate reaction.

Even so, Peter — who wasn't the best at Potions — was quite sure the Polyjuice had just been ruined.

he breathed a sigh of relief at the thought of not having to drink it. It wasn't that he didn't trust Sirius' brewing capabilities, but, well, he didn't trust Sirius' brewing capabilities.

Or James'.

Or Remus'.

(And the less said about his own, the better.)

The potion was letting out a rather impressive amount of silver smoke now, however, and Peter was growing concerned.

"Guys," he said, his voice squeaking. "I think my should leave. _Now_."

They scrambled for the door, Sirius loudly lamenting over his ruined potion — "I did everything perfectly, I don't understand!".

They slammed the door shut just in time — the explosion was strong enough that they felt it even then, and some smoke filtered through the crack underneath the door.

"Well," Remus said after a moment of silence, "I guess this means we'll go with the glamors."


	14. glitter

Written for Hogwarts' Auction Challenge: (word) apocalyptic, the Cocktail Corner: Honey - Dialogue: "We need to talk about your life choices."

Also for the Writing Club: Character Appreciation - (genre) friendship.

 _Word count:_ 574

 _ **glitter**_

James eyed the room before him, gaping. "Well, you weren't kidding when you said 'apocalyptic'."

He still had a hard time believing his eyes. He and Lily had left for two hours.

 _Two hours_.

He rubbed his temples. "At least tell me you got Harry out of here before it got this bad."

Sirius' silence was telling. "... He's with Remus now though?" Sirius offered, showing James big, wide innocent eyes that James absolutely wasn't fooled by.

"Lily's going to kill you," he pointed out, still too stunned to properly react at the sorry state of his living-room.

It was… It was… It was hard to describe, even now that James had been staring at it for a good five minutes. There was paint everywhere, and _something_ dripping from the ceiling that James thought might be pancake batter, though how it had ended up there or why it wasn't in the kitchen was anyone's guess.

And there was glitter. Glitter _everywhere_.

"Yeah," he repeated. "Lily's going to kill you."

" _Ja-ames_ ," Sirius begged, his eyes wide with panic. "You have to protect me! Help me! I'm too young and beautiful to die!" He faked-sobbed on James' shoulder — at first James let him, patting him on the back awkwardly (sometimes playing into it was the only way to deal with Sirius' drama) but he pushed him away when he realized that Sirius was only using this as an excuse to spread glitter all over James' robes.

"God-fucking-damnit, Sirius," he said, looking down at his now glittering robes, "these were new!"

Sirius smiled sheepishly. "Sorry," he said, though he didn't look sorry at all.

"You know what, just for that I'll leave you to deal with Lily. _Alone_."

He moved past his friend, stepping toward his bedroom.

"Hey, where are you going?" Sirius asked, hurrying after him.

James stopped and turned around, glaring. " _I_ am going to go take a shower. And _you_ are going to clean all of this up and _pray_ that Lily is still chatting with Molly long enough for you to finish."

He didn't wait for Sirius' answer, though he did hear it.

"Ah, wait, James, maybe you shouldn't…"

Sirius winced as James opened his bedroom's door.

"... Do that."

"SIRIUS! What did you do to my bedroom?"

"In my defense, it was an accident. Completely unplanned for. Entirely accidental."

James' left eyebrow twitched.

Sirius squeaked. Like a mouse. "I'll clean it up too?"

James kept glaring.

" _Now_?" Sirius added.

James narrowed his eyes but nodded. "You'd better." He went to Harry's nursery - hopefully the adjacent bathroom would be usable.

As he closed the door behind him, James sighed. Honestly, sometimes having Sirius around was like having a second kid. A very, very unruly kid.

Well, at least Harry was well-behaved.

A literal angel, heavens be blessed.

(Unbeknownst to him, Sirius was currently high-fiving said angel, who babbled back proudly and clapped his hands, joyfully spreading more glitter over his parents' bed.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Remus asked, eyeing the scene doubtfully. "Because I think we need to talk about your life choices."

Sirius took Harry back in his arms. "It'll be fine. You'll see." He bopped Harry on the nose. "Good job, Prongslet. We'll make a Marauder out of you yet."

Remus rubbed his temples, unknowingly echoing a gesture James had made mere moments earlier.

"Why," he muttered, "can I only see this ending in disaster?")


	15. we still sleep underneath (Salazar)

Written for Hogwarts' Auction Challenge: (character) Salazar Slytherin.

 _Word count:_ 235

 _ **we still sleep underneath the same stars**_

Salazar looked down at the locket in his hands. He had been holding it so tightly that the metal had left indents in his skin, pale, numb spots where the blood was slow in returning.

He hissed, and the snake engraved responded, just as he had known they would.

Just as they always did.

 _Mistress_? they called. _Mistress, is that you?_

Salazar pressed his eyes shut, willing the tears away.

he didn't know why he kept doing this to himself. If Rowena knew what he was doing — hell, if _Godric_ found out, he'd never hear the end of it.

He could already picture the soft, mournful, _pitying_ look of those soulful brown eyes, and Salazar swallowed back the raged that burned his throat.

He hissed back at the snake, _She's gone. She's gone and she's not coming back_.

They wouldn't remember it the next time he spoke to them.

They never did — memory had never been something they had been enchanted for, but even so, they remembered their Mistress.

They remembered Selene.

(They were the only ones, aside from Salazar, who still remembered his sister, and it was the only reason why he hadn't gotten rid of this accursed locket yet.

That, and, well… His sister had loved it.

It seemed that even now, Salazar still couldn't let go of the things his sister had loved.)


	16. I'm just a ghost (Luna&Helena)

Written for Hogwarts' Auction Challenge: (character) Helena Ravenclaw, the Pokemon Challenge: (title) I'm just a ghost (I can't hurt you anymore), Word: Attitude, Dialogue: "It looks like you're in trouble. Can I help?", Emotion: Lonely.

Also written for the Writing Club: Disney Challenge - Pumbaa - Write about someone who feels like an outcast, Lyric Alley: That a ghost should be so practical, Ami's Audio Admirations: Hummingbird - (phrase) "life after death", the Cocktail Corner: Cherries - (word) innocence.

 _Word count:_ 431

 _ **I'm just a ghost (I can't hurt you anymore)**_

There was a girl looking at her. A tiny, tiny wisp of a girl, with blond hair and globulus blue eyes, and she was staring at Helena like Helena held the answers to the universe itself. It was an odd attitude to have, and one Helena couldn't help but take notice of, no matter how little she wanted to.

She tried to leave, but the girl followed, silent, but always watching.

She didn't wear shoes, Helena suddenly noticed, a thread of concern coloring her thoughts blue for an instant.

She was one of her mother's students, she saw. The blue and bronze on the edge of her robes told Helena that much. Or well, not a student of her _mother_ , but a student in her mother's house.

Perhaps she was in need of help.

"Well, child," she finally said, "it looks like you're in trouble. Can I help?"

The girl blinked. "Oh," she said, her mouth shaped in a perfect 'o'. "I was just… exploring, I guess. This is a lovely castle."

Despite herself, Helena felt her lips tilt up into a quick smile. "It is," she agreed regally. "Why were you following me?"

Again, the girl merely blinked. "You seemed lonely," she finally admitted. "I guess… I guess I know what that's like. So I wanted to keep you company. I don't really have friends, you see."

There was something sad in her eyes now, something almost broken. Innocence, she thought. It twisted at Helena's unbeating heart.

She floated away, and the girl followed. "I am not lonely," she answered, but as she said it, Helena became aware that this was a lie.

She had never been the most social of ghost, perhaps, but she hadn't always been so recluse.

It was _his_ fault, she knew. The boy who had ruined her, who had taken the shards of her self that she had saved from the man who had killed her, the shards she had polished and cherished, and had turned them back against her.

But this wisp of a girl was no boy, was no man, and part of Helena still knew how to hope.

Perhaps… Perhaps this time could be different.

"My name," she said, looking down at the girl as she stopped, "is Helena. You may use it when we are alone, and only then. And I think I would enjoy your company a little longer, if you don't mind."

"I'm Luna," the girl replied, grinning from ear to ear. "And it's very nice to meet you, Helena."


	17. creature of the night (Marauders)

Written for Hogwarts' Auction Challenge: AU - Rocky Horror Picture Show.

Also written for the Writing Club: Character Appreciation - (plot point) a birth, Lyric Alley: My own secret ceremonials, Ami's Audio Appreciations: Limetown - (word) Experiment.

This is crack. Just crack.

 _Word count:_ 399

 _ **creature of the night**_

"Behold!" Sirius cried out. "My greatest creation!"

Cautious, James and Lily stepped closer. It was hard to say who reached for whose hand's first, but they clenched it tightly as they stepped closer to the table their host had led them to.

"Is that… Is that a body?" Lily gagged a little, but Sirius only grinned and clapped his hands like she was a child and had won a prize.

"Yes, of course!" Sirius replied, still grinning. He looked down at the body, trailing a finger down its — his? — cheek lovingly. His eyes shone with pride. "But soon, it will be so much more. For I, Sirius Orion Black, have discovered the secret to life itself!"

James bent down and whispered in Lily's ear urgently. "Come on, Lils, I think we should leave. This isn't… I don't like this."

But Lily… There was something about that body on the table, about the way Sirius spoke of his experiment, of what he could do, that appealed to the scientist in her.

"The car's broken," she reminded James in a soft tone. "And it's raining like crazy out there. We'd never even manage to get back to the car."

James sighed and looked very much like he was considering trying anyway, but Lily tugged on his hand and he complied. "I don't like this," he repeated, and Lily kissed his cheek.

"I know. And I swear, we'll leave first thing in the morning, as soon as the storm clears. It'll be fine, you'll see."

They should have paid more attention to Sirius though, because as they refocused back on him, they saw that he was done speaking — instead, he was pressing down buttons and levers, laughing almost maniacally.

The room grew bright, almost too bright to see. Electricity buzzed in the air, getting louder and louder — until suddenly, it stopped.

Lily blinked. She leaned forward. "I don't understand," she said. "Did it work?"

She got her answer a moment later — the body on the table jerked up, but indeed, it was no longer a body, unmoving and stiff. It moved.

 _He_ moved.

Sirius grinned, James and Lily once again forgotten in the face of his creation. "Well, look at you now! Aren't you just perfect? I think I'll call you… Remus."

His grin eased, became less maniacal. "Yes, Remus will do nicely."


	18. choco before bros (Marauders)

Written for Hogwarts' Auction Challenge: Dialogue: "Let me guess... someone stole your *sweetroll?"

 _Word count:_ 292

 _ **choco before bros**_

James woke up way too early for a Tuesday morning to the sounds of rummaging and loud, vulgar curses.

He groaned and rubbed a hand over his tired eyes — he didn't dare look at the time, but the fact that no light seeped in from the window of their dorm told him that it was still way too early for this.

Still, he forced himself to sit up, stifling a yawn. He blinked in the darkness a few times, and then cried out as a bright light was suddenly shone in his face.

"Oh, shit," the voice that had been doing all the cursing earlier said, and then the light was blissfully taken out of his face.

"Sorry about that," Remus said. He sounded sheepish, but it was hard to check when James still felt half blind.

"Remus," he states dryly, withholding a yawn through sheer force of will. "Let me guess... someone stole your chocolate?"

Remus growled — James almost jumped. For a moment there, Remus had sounded just like Moony did when he didn't get his way — usually just before he was about to try to run into the village to _eat people_.

And well… there was the bro code, and then there was common sense.

"You should check Sirius' stuff," he said. Under his bed, third floorboard on the right."

Remus eyed him with suspicion — it was very clear, even in the darkness. "Why are you helping me?"

"Because I want to sleep," James snapped back. "Now go get you chocolate, and let me sleep. _Please_."

He burrowed himself back underneath the covers, and when, moments later, Remus shouted in triumph, he hoped that Sirius' revenge for this betrayal wouldn't be too terrible.


	19. phobia (Ron)

Written for Hogwarts' Auction Challenge: Plot Point: A character has an irrational fear of the potty and the Cocktail Corner: Flour - Character: Molly Weasley.

 _Word count:_ 423

 _ **phobia**_

"That's enough, Ron. You're almost six now, you can go to the toilets by yourself. I know you know how to." When being stern seems to fail, and Ron only keeps crying, Molly softens her tone and kneels down.

"Come on, Ron, don't you want to be a big boy? Everyone else goes to the potty on their own."

It is perhaps a bit mean to appeal to Ron's jealousy of his siblings and to his want to be like them, but it has worked in the past, and sometimes, when one is raising seven children, one has to make a few… compromises.

But this time, it doesn't work. Ron just keeps crying, loud sobs that echoe right down to her soul.

"M-Mummy," he says, hiccupping through his tears, and Molly's heart gives a heavy pang. "Please, I'm scared. I don't wanna go to the potty alone."

She sighs. " _Fine_. I'll go with you, but just for one day. Just for today, okay. You'll see there's nothing to be afraid of, alright?"

Ron's brown eyes seem bigger now that they're shining with tears, but the sobs ease up and he nods. He takes her hand and follows her as she leads him to the bathroom.

They stop in front of the toilet — it is a perfectly normal toilet, as she explains to him. Nothing to be scared of, and there are no monsters hiding inside.

"B-but, but spiders, Mummy, _spiders_ ," he half says, half stutters, looking around him nervously like he thinks just saying their name will call the creatures to him.

Molly fights back a smile, because adorable though Ron may be right now, this is a serious phobia, and she knows how scary that feels to her son.

"Wanna know a secret?" she tells him instead of empty reassurances, leaning down to his level.

Ron looks up at her with wide eyes and nods eagerly. "Yes."

Molly winks at him and demonstrates how to flush the toilets. "If you do this," she tells him, "even if there are any spiders — which there aren't," she hastens to add, "they'd be drowned and washed down the toilets. So see? There's really nothing to fear."

Ron steps forward hesitantly still, but Molly can almost see this fear letting go of him — not the one of spiders, which she fears will always be with him — but this other, irrational one, that spiders might climb out of the toilets and swarm.

She ruffles his hair and leaves him to his business.


	20. fabric of your flesh (Snape)

Written for Hogwarts' Religious Education Assignment: Task 9: Sacrifice - Write about someone doing something they ordinarily wouldn't do, in order to prove their loyalty to a person, cause, etc.

Also for the Pokemon Challenge: (genre) angst, (plot point) feeling trapped, (word) irresponsible, (title) fabric of your flesh.

 _Word count:_ 517

" _And my soul, Dumbledore? Mine?"_

 _\- Severus Snape, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_

 _ **fabric of your flesh**_

Lily, Severus remembered almost fondly, had had a fascination for Greek mythology as a child.

(He had never had the chance to find out if it had followed her as an adult, and he never would.)

All the tales she delighted in relating back to him had been rather morbid, and Severus hadn't liked a single one of them, no matter how hard Lily had tried to change his mind. It had been one of the very few things he and Petunia had agreed on — Lily's fascination for those odd, gruesome tales was simply weird.

Her favorite, he knew, had been the tale of Sisyphus, condemned to push a boulder up a hill for eternity, doomed to start over every time his task seemed over at last.

He hadn't understood then. The whole thing had seemed… stupid to him, and he hadn't been able to grasp the point of the story.

He still couldn't.

But now… Now, he felt like he understood Sisyphus a little bit better.

 _Doomed to fulfill an impossible task. Trapped in an endless loop._ That seemed to describe his life pretty well, and Severus almost laughed, bitter and angry.

Albus kept talking, telling him that killing him was the only way — he was dying anyway, and the Light side needed this, needed Severus to be their spy and for that, his loyalty needed to be above all suspicion.

Severus felt like screaming. This wasn't what he had left the Death Eaters for.

This wasn't what he wanted.

Failure after failure, and all the things he had ever wanted slipped through his grasp like mist. Would he never know peace? Or was this his curse, his godly punishment for the irresponsible crimes of his youth?

What was even one more death on his sorry excuse for a conscience at this point?

But no, this wasn't his curse — his curse would be this; was this: climbing up the steps of the Astronomy tower, knowing — _knowing_ — what he'd find at the top and yet being unable to do anything but keep climbing, keep _pushing_ his own boulder, a burden of his own making, Sisyphus reborn because his task would never be done.

Death for a man he didn't want to kill to secure his place under a man he didn't wish to serve, and this wasn't the first time he did something like this, not would it be the last, but he hated it all the same.

Before him, Albus begged. " _Please_ ," he said, as if that was any help. Did the old man truly thing a plea would, what, help? Be a balm on his battered soul?

Be a reminder — 'This is what I want, Severus, remember your promises' — as though Severus could ever forget?

The green light left his wand silently, the harsh words of the curse cutting through the air. Albus' body toppled over the edge of the tower, Severus' burden rolling downhill again, because his work wasn't over yet, was never over, would never be over.

Part of him even thought it _could_ never be.


	21. mon amour (Snape)

Written for Hogwarts' Notable Witches & Wizards: Task #8: Write about an unrequited love.

Also for the Pokemon Challenge: Mankey - King's Cross, Word: Flower, Dialogue: "It was all a misunderstanding.", Genre: Angst, the Writing Club: Book Club - Eddie's Dad: (emotion) bitterness, (plot point) not talking to someone for a long time, (word) damage, Showtime: Little Fall of Rain - (object) flowers, Lyric Alley: in the graveyard doing handstands, Sophie's Shelf: Carmelita Spats - write about someone self absorbed, Emy's Emporium: Temur Khan - write about someone losing everything they have, Film Festival: (emotion) guilty, Cocktail Corner: Whiskey - (plot point) write about someone drowning their sorrows.

 _Word count:_ 405

 _ **mon amour**_

Severus wasn't quite sure what had brought him out there, to the one place he had sworn never to visit.

The alcohol, probably. He could feel it burning in his veins still, his body oddly weightless, his mind unencumbered in the way it only ever got when he was intoxicated.

It made him hate himself a little more, how much he needed this to cope with everything.

But especially with this.

Lily's grave was… It was beautiful, in the way graves usually were. It was elegant and flowers littered the ground — stupid well wishers who probably had never even known her but wanted to pay their respects to the mother of their damned savior — but it wasn't Lily.

Lily had been vibrant and colorful and she would never stop moving, not even once. This grave was so far from that it ripped out a painful chuckle from his mouth, scraping his lungs raw on its way out.

He knelt down — fell to his knees, rather. It hurt, but it was nothing he didn't deserve. He was the one who had put her there, after all. Six feets under, and this would forever be the closest he could ever get to her again.

"It was all a misunderstanding," he said, mumbling to himself and the dirt, fingers reaching up to trace the letters of her name on the stone, _Lily_ , _Lily_ , _Lily_ , the only word he would ever need to know. "It was all just a misunderstanding," he repeated. His vision blurred but he didn't bother wiping his cheeks.

"Things weren't supposed to go this way." And he could see it all unfold in his mind's eyes, how Lily would have loved him, if it wasn't for that one small mistake that had cost him so much and caused so much damage.

How they would have been together, happy and safe — how she would have loved him and he would have loved her, and he would never have ended up bent over her grave, drunk and grieving, wishing the world otherwise.

"You were supposed to love me." The words stuck in his throat, bitter and thick. "I'm sorry." He repeated these words so many times they came to feel meaningless, closer to the void growing inside his soul than to anything else.

Finally, he stood up, knees cracking. He caressed the letters that formed her name once more, fingers trembling, and left.


	22. reversed (Lily&Petunia)

Written for Hogwarts' Writing Club: Showtime - 5: Schuyler Sisters - (relationship) sisters, Lyric Alley 33 - As long as I'm alive, swear to God you'll never feel so helpless, Em's Emporium: Greece - the beaches: write about something pure, Lo's Lowdown: Character 13 - Grantaire: (trait) cynical.

Also for the Mythology Assignment: Task 4: Set - Write about a tumultuous relationship between sublings.

 _Word count:_ 340

* * *

"You did _what_?!" Petunia could feel herself blanch with rage, but Lily didn't flinch. Her little sister stood her ground, not even looking away, that damning letter still clutched in her hand so tight the parchment seemed close to breaking.

"I sent the Headmaster a letter," she replied, crossing her arms, "asking him when my letter would be coming in the mail."

Petunia swallowed, pushing past the lump in her throat painfully. This was so typical — precious Lily just had to have everything, didn't she? Even Petunia's last refuge — Hogwarts, and the magical world.

Lily had to try to infiltrate even that.

"And?" she asked through her clenched teeth.

For the first time, Lily looked down. "He said that if I didn't get a letter by my eleventh birthday, I wasn't a witch." She gave Petunia a sad smile. "He was very nice about it, though."

It hit her then. "Your birthday was last week."

Lily nodded. "Yeah…" She sighed. "Guess I'm really not a witch, huh?"

Something in Petunia eased. "Oh," she said. "Good — I mean, I'm sorry?" She winced, but Lily only nodded.

"I really wanted to go with you, though," Lily confessed, looking up at Petunia through her eyelashes.

And suddenly, Petunia was reminded of the past, before Petunia had even realized that the weird things happening around her were her own doing — or rather, before Lily had told her so.

They had been close then. Friends. How had they drifted so far apart that Petunia's first reaction to anything her sister did was hatred and contempt?

She looked back at her sister again, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she felt none of that.

Just… Concern, and some pity. She couldn't imagine not having magic, much less going through what Lily must be going through right now.

"I'm sorry," she repeated, but this time, it rang true.

This time, she meant it.

And, she vowed to herself, she would do her very best to keep on meaning it.


	23. redemption (Draco)

Written for Hogwarts' Writing Club: Character Appreciation 22: (era) trio, Disney Challenge - Character 10: Happy - write about someone learning not to base their happiness on other people, Lyric Alley 27: All I have's my honor, a tolerance for pain, Emy's Emporium: BONUS: Write about someone seeing their identity with fresh eyes.

 _Word count:_ 420

* * *

 _ **redemption**_

Potter speaks at his trial, advocating for leniency. Draco isn't sure why. It's not like he's done anything to deserve it. One time pretending he couldn't recognize the Boy-Who-Lived can't possibly make up for everything he's ruined.

And yet…

And yet it seems like Potter believes otherwise, because while his father is spent to Azkaban — again — Draco and his mother are released with little more than a fine they can easily pay.

And for a while — a few days — Draco thinks that this is it. This is the worst he'll ever have to deal with. The Dark Lord is dead, he's free and clear, and he can do whatever he wants.

He can be whoever he wants.

But he doesn't know who he wants to be. He barely even know who he is anymore — how can he, when so much of who he was was based on everything his father taught him?

On everything he had thought the Dark Lord stood for?

But Draco couldn't kill a defenseless old man, and he couldn't stomach the torture, and he had been so lonely he hadn't been able to stop himself from talking to the prisoners in his father's dungeons.

And so here he is now, wondering if maybe all he had ever known hadn't been just a lie — in which case, what does that make him?

What does that make him?

He doesn't know.

He doesn't know, and so he just… wanders, aimless.

He gets his NEWTs even though he didn't complete his seventh year — fewer Outstandings than he would have liked, but his father isn't there to be disappointed in him.

There is only his mother, who looks at him with quiet pride and encourages him to do anything he wants.

One, two years ago, he would have wanted nothing more than to follow in his father's footsteps. That had been all he'd ever wanted.

But today the idea makes him sick — all he can picture is his father begging, the once great man Draco had spent years admiring reduced to a crawling thing of a man.

All he can remember is how easy it had been for his father to torture someone, when Draco never could.

He enrolls in St. Mungo's Healer course the next day.

He doesn't know what he wants to do with his life yet, or who he wants to be, but he does know one thing.

He never wants to have to harm anyone, not ever again.


	24. after midnight (Dennis&Colin)

Written for Hogwarts' Ancient Runes Assignment: Task 2 - Write about someone who does not believe in magic (at first).

Also written for the Garage Sale Competition: clock, Snape Appreciation Challenge: 7. Hiccoughing Potion – write about something annoying, Writing Club: Disney Challenge - Micheal and Jane Banks - write about mischievous children, Lyric Alley: I am not a stranger to the dark, the Insane House Challenge: Item - Clock, Auction: (genre) angst.

Also for the Summer Challenges: Days of the Year:August 11 2018 - Son and Daughter Day: Write a kidfic, Gryffindor Challenge: (character) Dennis Creevey, Summer Astronomy Prompts: August 11 2018 - Partial Solar Eclipse: (restriction) Set your story in complete darkness, and Sophie's Tearoom: Apricot Macarons: (action) Sleeping.

 _Word count;_ 608

* * *

 _ **after midnight**_

"Colin, Colin! Wake up!"

Colin groaned and buried his head under his pillow, hoping his brother would catch onto his meaning and go away. Moments later, Dennis was shaking him, and Colin sat up in his bed, yawning.

"What is it, Dennis?" he said grumpily. A look toward the clock told him it was way too early for them both to be awake, and he nearly buried himself back under his covers.

But Dennis was staring at him with wide, frightened eyes, and so Colin sighed as he lifted a corner of his covers.

"Nightmare?" he asked, tone softer.

Dennis shuffled in close, nodding. He stayed quiet for a moment, before asking, "Do you think magic exists?"

Colin startled. "No." He frowned. "Why?"

Dennis looked up at him sheepishly. "Well, I was watching the tv, and there was this wizard, and —"

Colin rolled his eyes. "And this wouldn't be something Mum and Dad told you not to watch, would it?"

"... Maybe?"

Colin huffed. "Well, then it's no surprise you got nightmares."

Dennis stayed silent. "Hey, Colin, why do you think magic's not real?"

Colin bit back a sigh. His eyes drifted back to the clock, painfully taking in the still too early hour. "Why do you think it's real?" he countered, focusing back on his brother.

Dennis shrugged. "I… It makes sense." He yawned. "How else would you explain the way Mr. Squiggle?"

Colin let out a surprised bark of laughter, muffling it quickly into his fist. Mr. Squiggle had been Colin's plushie before he'd handed it to Dennis, and it was true that some… weird things had happened around it, like it moving seemingly on its own or drying too quickly.

But it wasn't magic. It couldn't be. Magic wasn't real — if it was, their father would still be there. He would have come back.

Dennis barely remembered him now, his memories replaced with ones of their mother's second husband, the ones they both called Dad now, but Colin did. He remembered the day their father had left for work, and how he had never returned.

But most of all, he remembered how that police officer had given him a slightly ruffled package wrapped in colorful paper — his father's last birthday gift for him.

His first camera.

(No, Colin didn't believe in magic.)

"Nothing can explain Mr. Squiggle," he countered weakly.

"Well, I think it's magic." Dennis pouted.

Colin bit his tongue. He didn't understand it, and Dennis was annoying sometimes (okay, a lot of the time), but Colin couldn't dash his hopes.

Their mother wouldn't like it, and Dennis didn't deserve it anyway.

So, instead of saying the rebuttal he wanted, Colin just sighed. "Whatever. Think you can sleep now?"

"Can I stay with you?"

Colin groaned again, but he knew better than to argue with his little brother when it came to this. " _Fine_. But you better not hog all the covers. And keep your cold feet to yourself."

Dennis chuckled as he nodded. "Thanks, Colin." He snuggled closer, and Colin let him with nary a sigh.

Colin was almost asleep again when Dennis' voice ruptured the silence.

"Colin?"

" _What?_ "

"Happy birthday."

Colin smiled. "Thanks. Now, please, _sleep_."

"Alright, alright. I'll sleep."

" _Thank you_ ," Colin breathed.

Dennis fell asleep almost instantly after that — of course he did.

But Colin laid awake for a while longer, thinking.

It was his birthday. He hadn't realized it when he'd woken up, and it still didn't feel quite real — it was too early for this, and he was too half-asleep for it anyway.

But… He was turning eleven today.

Somehow, that felt important.


End file.
